Some Lovely Nostalgia
by miae685
Summary: Travel into the past...where the world was new and anything was possible. If countries didn't battle, and a perfect society existed throughout Pangea...but replaced with anime characters! You can request from a variety of anime, but all oneshots will be in first-person. (Me, I, mine, etc. )
1. Me, a Witch?

When I was a young girl, I "owned" a young boy whom I called Mockingbird for the reason in which he followed me around and agreed with every word that rolled off my tongue.  
"Me, a witch? Absurd!" Gilbert stood dumbfounded as I smirked wickedly. The eye-catching poster he held inches from my face made me snicker. News of a witch spread like wildfire in a town where every townsperson held their ear to the ground. He looks closely to the poster, then to me, our noses touching. His red eyes gleamed and squinted as his hot breath tickled my neck. "Move away, Mockingbird, I've better things to do." I wave my hand his direction arrogantly and move towards my small abode, white love knot swaying in the light breeze.  
In my younger years, my hair was a light silver- such as moonlight. I loathed my white hair, which was just like the Mockingbird's. And I loathed the color white.  
"Hmm...hm..." I walked from one boiling pot to another, kissing my cross each time I passed one. The Mockingbird was asleep on my desk, not bothering to pay attention or even keep his head up. "Mockingbird?" I called out, reaching for a crimson flask. I smiled at his boyish features- large red eyes, short white hair, and repetitive remarks on how he is "awesome". Gilbert's health was fragile, but I loved him, even then. He did not put on airs, and I envied his normality throughout the people.  
My lonesome mother had always taught me to be careful of whom I address as an acquaintance. I accepted Gilbert into my life with hesitation and without regrets.  
"You should take more pride in your hair, Almira." The Mockingbird calls out to me, taking a strand into his hand. "It is just like mine, so it is awesome!" I blushed and kissed him. My first kiss, he was.  
I loved my white hair, which was just like the Mockingbird's. And I loved the color white.  
"Your coming with me! Witch!" A man called to me, grabbing my arm forcefully, my dress wrinkling. "No! Lies! I am no Witch!" He was a man well-know throughout the people, and he was pure-blooded philanthropic. I was always afraid of this, and now I understand why the Mockingbird tried so hard to keep me hidden. I could see him, from around the corner. He's crying, and is gripping the poster from before tightly. The man grabs my cross, and holds it high above his head as a sinful prize. "Here! Behold the sign of the Devil! Witch! Witch!" My cross was a silver beauty, with rubies lining the edge. The sun hits it for a split-second perfectly. My white cross...  
And once again...the most dreadful- white. The absence of all colors. "A Witch must always wear this," my mother would tell me. "for she is the absence of all sin and lies."  
"Penitence for your crime! Penitence and your life!" Somehow, in the end, everything added up perfectly. The young Alfred Jones was the one to tie me up to the cross, never taking his eyes away from his feet. I could hear him softly sob to my right, as his brother Matthew sheds tear after tear- gagging me in the process. Alfred whispers in my ear, "I'm sorry. I really am. You don't deserve this. Everyone deserves freedom, no matter what you are." While my left ear hears, "I know it wasn't you. He loves you- so do I. Even if it is you- you've cast such a spell on me, I can't fall in love with another." They both kiss my cheeks, as they steadily walk down the large crowd of townspeople lined up. I look around for my Mockingbird, but only see a small boy gripping and kissing a lone silver cross. He looks to me, angrily crying, and cursing every person in Pangaea. At that one moment in time, all I saw was white. A knife was struck into my core, blood dripping past the gag and onto my white garb. The one who was sent to behead me was none other than- "Ah!"  
I loved my white hair- which flew like a Mockingbird in the wind. And I loved Gilbert.  
The last I remember was the gag being cut off along with my already short locks, then Gilbert's lips pressed to mine, his tongue slipping into my mouth. He cupped my cheeks, slipping my head through the string of my silver cross. The worst that became of us two was being banished together to the end of the world. (Today, it is known as the bottom tip of "Africa".)  
My Mockingbird always sang to me. Until the very end my ears heard the tunes of my sweet Gilbert- singing yet another song of meaningless chatter.


	2. Gone with the wind, but you have Sinned!

When I was a young women, I used to always run off to a small shelter two miles from the people. My Mockingbird would fly along my side, filling my ears with idle chat. A repetitive expression that always throughout the people was, "The sky is your limit." I disagreed completely, but still agreed in order to achieve slight normality. The "shelter" I was speaking of before was one my mother had built up with simple items, such as leaves and twigs. The purpose of this camouflaging was to hide from the townspeople; in spite of my mother's normality. I was the reason she was to flee the townspeople. I was the cause of her short life of twenty years stopped short. My green eyes were unlike her own, and the first three days of my life I was to not open them.  
There was a Pool of Fire, where humans and normality was banished like a crime. The Pool of Fire, where immortality lingered and the wind never reached.  
When I first showed Gilbert the shelter, the Mockingbird couldn't help the curiosity nipping at him. He teased me; he tricked me; he begged me- but I still refused to show him the Pool of Fire. "A Mockingbird should stray from fire," I would tell him. "for fire is attracted to the beauty of those who have sinned." Finally, the Mockingbird had Mocked me to the point where I had accidentily chased him to the Pool. He tripped, and we both tumbled into a strange stone hedge. We stared upwards, as the stone read:  
STAND HERE, HUMANS AND BEHOLD ALL THE BEAUTY OF WHICH YOUR TOLD. YOU HEARD OF THE RAIN AND THE FIRE BUT NOT OF THIS HIDDEN PLACE COME NOW, WORRIES DO NOT EXIST AND WIPE TEARS FROM YOUR FACE. FOR THIS LAND IS "MAGICAL" AND WILL SHOW YOU MANY THINGS IF YOU DO NOT MIND A LITTLE HARD-WORK AND YOU ARE HE WHO CLEARLY THINKS. ONLY THOSE WHO ARE TAUNTED PURPOSELY SEEK OUT THIS LAND MISGUIDED BY THEIR OWN EMOTIONS AND LED TO SOMETHING GRAND. YOU NEED NOT FRIENDS NOR FAMILY SIMPLY STARE INTO THE FIRE AND YOU WILL FIND THE HIDDEN SECRETS OF YOUR PASSIONS AND DESIRES. ALL OF YOUR SANITY IS NOW GONE WITH THE WIND AND YOU KNOW NOT BUT NOW YOU HAVE SINNED.  
My mother told me that I could walk through the fire that burned here. But, humans could not. Or...  
"Stop that! You will burn, daft Mockingbird!" Gilbert could not stop in the midst of his actions, however, and stepped towards the burning embers. "No...!" I myself have never been foolish as I was then, but I could not imagine a Pangaea without my believed Mockingbird. As my skin did not burn, my clothes were completely engulfed in flames.  
...so it should have been.  
Gilbert, my Gilbert, was safe from the growing flames. But, still remained dumbfounded. He looked at my naked body, as I hovered above him, tears dripping onto his garbs. "Almira..." I panted as he spoke. His actions surprised me- instead of grimacing at my scarred features, his cheeks burned just like the fire as he kissed my neck softly. His hands moved to around my neck and lower back. He pushed himself on top of me and went to my breasts. I wanted to cover them, wanted to push him away. But...somehow, I couldn't bring myself to steal my gaze away from his eyes. His tongue swirled around my nipple. "Nnnn! A-Ah, Gilbert..." I tried to reason with how much torturing he could receive for lying with a witch. But, as he was a Mockingbird, he shook his head and smirked as I cried joyfully at his love. Burning love for someone indifferent. Someone banished, unaccepted, unwanted, and misunderstood.  
After that, I remember him picking me up and carrying me to the shelter, un-robing himself along the way.  
During the procedure, he never broke his gaze with me. Throughout all of it, I couldn't help but smile and cry as he whispers beautiful melodies of love in my ear. Afterwards, he doesn't stop holding me with no space in-between us. He never stopped loving someone unloved. Never stopped giving me his hand to someone who wasn't allowed to be saved. He never stopped being in love with a women who didn't love herself. My mother had always told me to be cautious when it came to kind humans. The kind ones were the ones who killed you with kindness. The meaning was literal and in the back of my mind, but was over run by the Mockingbird's song.  
The Pool of Fire, which was just like his eyes. There was a Pool of Fire, where to this day a white Dove and a Mockingbird meet every day, but keep to themselves. The Mockingbird sings a dreadful, unattractive song, while the Dove whistles a high-pitched tune of promising love and a cry for companionship...too high to hear for anyone but the Mockingbird.


	3. No Need to say Goodbye

_In another life. . ._

The calm wind settled itself neatly along the short hedges and growths of Switzerland. A man stands solemnly in silver armor, looking to a women smiling. His eyes looked as if they were pained, as if he was pained, by something unknown. Known, but not distinctly known. Sally looks to Basch, her smile forever lingering, forever forgotten. She clasps her hands onto her dress, still looking to him. Her eyes glowed with tears, his eyes with regret.

"Sally." He says, aloud, voice quivering. "I...I need to go. Now." He turns away, her expression painfully happy. She knew what he mustn't run from, and he knew what he must stand up to. His country needed him, as she needed to regain her composure. As long as she ordained the forsakenness of the situation, he would be successful. Everything had changed with his sister's death; he was silent and more reserved than he initially was.

She hated herself for it, but things were better. But nowadays, it seemed as if he was committing suicide. Heading off for war at every opportunity. He was a reserved man as it was, he just wanted to protect her. As this was his main priority, after she passed his life became as insignificant as a drunkard's cry.

She would sit at home, sit and rock. Cold nostalgia chilled her to the core as Sally wrapped her hand around her braid. The mirror reflected not only her countenance, but that of his sister. She was a small girl, but not fragile. She loved him, but denial wasn't just an emotion of his. Sally pulled at the thick bundle; wanting to yank all of it just for him. Without her braids, she would be just like her. Why couldn't he love her the way he did her? Why did she pass, but still live on?

Nothing struck her as worse as when Sally received a letter from a man in a black-clad suit. He had broad shoulders, and many weapons at his waist. The small envelope was full of not only grief, lamentation, and horror, but with a reconciled scenario-

What he needed was a release. Either to tell someone what happened and how he felt, or just to have someone tell him its okay, he longed silently for it. The battle was long and hard, but well-worth it. His silver armor was now fainted and rusted, his skin no longer flawless. He opens the door, "Sally." He drops his bag, armor still shining. "Sally."

The bench he had sat upon with her so short ago, was still the same. "Sally!" He smiled for the sake of being happy, and walked to her. When he approached her, he realized she wasn't there. A few weeks prior, he had received a letter bound for his head officer. It was only half-finished, but it was enough to reduce the man to a few tears.

After the occurrence of both women passing- he wasn't left with anything to do but go back and fight. Fight for Sally; fight for her; fight because, it was the last thing to do left.

Immortality was like a sweet, sweet dream you can't wake up from. The sweet taste lingers forever, but the taste makes your tongue bleed after a while. Immortality is a terrifying opposite of a dream. A dream is terrifying because there's a end; Immortality is terrifying because there isn't.

When he saw her again, he was in a large, beautiful field of reconciliation. The grass was compassion; the flowers comfort; and the last two standing was the friends, fighting against inevitable hatred. The sun shone on both of them, clouds hiding in secrecy. She dropped her sword in unison as he drops his.

His chest heaves up and down, blood and sweat mixing throughout his entire body. He moves on instinct, not realizing it. She remains in the same place. She doesn't move, though panting as well. "Why did you come here?" He steps over the piled bodies of opposite soldiers as he calls out to her. "Well, why?"

"Because you needed someone, too."

He pushes his forehead to hers, their thoughts melding. He cups her cheek; she grabs his hand; they kiss.

His lips tasted of sweet, darling release. Release of all the untold emotions and emotionless feelings. Her lips tasted of unsure divinity, chasteness and untainted innocence. She left him before, though he was in denial she left him in the first place. "I love you..."

She was a small girl, but not fragile. He was a steady man, ready to crumble at any moment.


End file.
